


Every Failure You Chalk

by TheNarcolepticOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Doctors & Physicians, Eventual Romance, Haircuts, M/M, Military Backstory, Mutual Pining, Operas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNarcolepticOne/pseuds/TheNarcolepticOne
Summary: Bright eyed and opportunity seeking weren’t the words to describe Arthur anymore. He had hit the pinnacle of youth before anyone else he knew, and in a profession like his, he’s already aged over two centuries in the last 8 years. But a trip to a local hair salon makes him open himself up to another misfit of age like himself.





	Every Failure You Chalk

**Author's Note:**

> For the USUKUS Twice Per Year’s [Uncommon Professions](https://usukustwiceperyear.tumblr.com/post/178978698591/uncommon-professions-a-collection-of-fanarts?is_related_post=1). It should be the first multichapter I’ve has in a while. Not sure how many chapters but probably a time less than 10 I’m thinking? Depends on how many people care haha.

It was 9:30 AM in the morning and Arthur was already pissed.

  
It had started with the weather; Alexa had lied to him and the sky was definitely _not_ a 20-degree day with partly sunny skies with an anticipation of the sunny weather by noon. Instead, it was a day that had a heavy insurgence of clouds cluttering the breathable air with droplets of rain to inhale and a flood warning by 3:00 PM. Probably.

And like any other normal human being, Arthur decidedly chose to outwardly complain about it by muttering under his breath about how God had specifically cursed his weekly “Treat Yourself” Wednesdays to become the day that would be the perfect one for a drenching shower that he didn’t ask for, and this was the only day in the week that he ever really planned anything productive to happen. His ridiculous work schedule murdered his sleep in his sleep.

So there had to be _one_ day in the week that he designated for basic errands and groceries to buy and a Wednesday was a _great_ alternative instead of working 3 days in a row. But in all honesty, Arthur also believed that grocery shopping had to be one of the worst instances of a “detox from work” alternatives ever.

Case A: being caught when parking in front of the Safeway; contemplating whether to run for it and possibly suffer a concussion slipping in the puddles.

He could also attempt to stay dry by grabbing his $5 umbrella and using it as a useless shield against the elements, but he had already experienced enough instances where it would fly out of his hands the second it was opened. And option 3 didn’t sound as appealing; to just suck it up and allow his too-thin jacket without a hood to be drenched while ambulating shamefully to the automatic doors.

But all of this was only conjecture. The logic at the back of Arthur’s brain began to say that he could also theoretically wait while the weather lightened up of course. Its more time consuming though and would take a lot of his day off. Tacoma, Washington didn’t necessarily have a reputation for having the most consistent weather crescendos and decrescendos. At least in England, the rain was punctual; committing itself to be present until it wasn’t. Here, it was just a game of flipping coins and constantly with a losing streak.

The radio didn’t have anything good on, and the only thing that Arthur finally seemed to settle himself to do was to drive around town with an intention to just find a place to kill the time. The roads weren’t exactly easy to navigate, as they were quite literally 90 degrees higher steepness inclines. And if not, the rest of the place was a disgustingly fake imitation of Seattle except with more shady graffiti and sketchy people discussing deals on the sidelines.

It took a while before he eventually concluded to eat at a street coffee shop drive-thru that served him a muffin and some tea; a drier alternative than having to leave his car. It was niched right at the end of the street in a semi-empty parking lot and Arthur very much appreciated the isolation of just eating by himself without anyone to bother his morning.

Turning off his car with a jingle of his keys, he sighed as took a moment to just listen to the rain. And though he didn’t enjoy the idea of walking through it eventually, Arthur adjusted his seat enough for him to have a moment to himself, relaxing. He gave himself 10 minutes before he would decidedly go back to Safeway. 

At the corner of his eye, Arthur spotted a very clearly defined LED scroll sign across the parking lot that he was stationed in that had a significant glare when stared at too long. The building it was attached to looked recently occupied.

It didn’t necessarily have any other gigantic sign that signified anything about the establishment, which was astonishing considering the way businesses changed around as often as every other day. New restaurants or stores often didn’t last two years to keep their leases and Arthur never put the effort to memorize names because of this. It was “Weed-Out” culture among many places and Arthur wondered about how long this one would stay open.

The only thing appealing about it to Arthur was the fact that it had an awning that stretched the sidewalk and an open parallel parking spot right in front of the place that fit it.

And it was also an establishment that Arthur had promised himself he’d look for in his spare time.

Arthur took an instance to drink his tea in the car, fully observing the brick building itself. It was a clear barber shop and salon, marked of course with an iconic red, white and blue pole jutting out right next to the front door. It had a glass window that let people see inside; and Arthur didn’t really see anyone in there, save for a silhouette of someone in the back of the store sweeping the floor.

It appeared like there was not a lot of action to be had here and Arthur _loved_ quiet places immensely.

After finishing the last of his muffin, he crumpled the paper in his hands and shoved it into the cup holder as he began to kick the car back to life. If anything saved him from getting cold and wet socks, he was hooked.

##

The digital beeping bell from the door was heard when Arthur entered, and the heavy smell of hairspray hit his nose enough to make it crinkle. Glancing around, he spotted the waiting area, which had a variety of magazines with famous stars on them littering the seats. Along with this, there was a confusing aesthetic of Vietnamese elements all over the establishment, to which he didn’t question.

It just felt as if some of the places were more decorated than others.

Out from the back room, a man stepped out; most likely the one he had seen at the window based on his physique. The approaching cashier had his hands wiping onto a towel as he went up to the counter, smiling at Arthur as he met his gaze. Arthur blinked.

“Welcome,” He said cheerfully. How could anyone had that kind of energy when it was so dreary out? “Are you here by appointment?”

“Er, no,” said Arthur honestly, sticking his hands into the pocket of his jacket instinctively. “I’ve just come here to see if you had any openings for a walk-in. I’m in need of a new barber.”

“Oh,” he dropped the towel as he looked down to his computer for a minute. He leaned a little bit forward to reach the mouse. “Well, actually, you came at a really good time. I don’t get to see anyone until about after 12:30.”

The man looked up again to meet Arthur’s gaze and Arthur couldn’t hold back his own sense of curiosity.

“You’re... Bian Nguyen?”

The other chuckled.

“Nah, that’s my bosses name. She’s a bit shy of customers she’s never seen before. Also, her real specialty is women’s hair.”

The man smiled, straightening up and extending his hand.

“That’s why I’m here. I’m Alfred. Or Al. I go by either.”

“Arthur,” he took the hand firmly, embarrassed by his assumption and feeling his cheeks start to heat up slightly. “Sorry. I’m not an expert at names.”

“Well, we’re pretty new here,” admitted Alfred, gesturing Arthur to follow him. “And you’re not the first one to assume. I’ve had worse.”

Arthur took the time to take off his coat, following him as he folded it over his arm. He was led over to the sinks and instructed to let his head lay into the groove of the bowl. The seat looked entirely comfortable and even had a remote tucked into the side of the leather.

“Sorry,” Arthur apologized again, still feeling the guilt sit in his stomach. “I also don’t speak much with other hair stylists around this area. I usually only just see one, but he’s gone away now.”

Alfred began to turn on the sink as Arthur let himself relax in the chair.

“Is this temperature okay?”

“Yeah,” murmured Arthur, letting his eyes close a minute. Alfred continued to talk as if nothing had been said in between the conversation.

“Only one?” said Alfred curiously, starting to wash his hands. “Most people have at least one back up.”

“I had specific instructions to not let anyone touch my hair,” explained Arthur. “My old hair stylist was a bit of a stickler, if you could excuse the term. Used to figure out that someone had touched my head with just a glance.”

“Oh?” Arthur could practically hear the hairstylist’s eyebrows raising. “I know a guy. Maybe we’re thinking of the same one.”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Try me, Mister. You said you didn’t know names.”

“I’m not a _Mister_ , lad. That’s _Doctor_ to you.”

The sound of Alfred’s movements stopped, and Arthur opened his eyes, seeing his stare back at him. His eyes were the brightest blue had ever seen.

“Sorry, _Doc_ ,” he laughed. “Gotta make sure that I used the title you paid for; that’s my fault. But I’m just real curious, actually. It doesn’t happen to be that French guy a few streets down, is it?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows now, unsure if he should have responded to the retort but continued anyway.

“Francis. You know him?”

“A little,” admitted Alfred, lathering some shampoo into his hands with a bottle squeeze. “When you said he was a stickler, I figured. He’s super annoying sometimes but he’s a nice guy. He came by once and a while just to hold conversations on his lunch break with me.”

Arthur closed his eyes again when he felt Alfred’s hands on his head, massaging the shampoo into his skull. It actually felt... incredibly nice. It felt a lot more direct than Francis was. Francis was the type that liked to use gloves, but hands had a consistency to it that felt more natural to Arthur.

“Did he.” He said a little laxly.

“Yeah. I dunno if he took a liking to me or anything,” remarked Alfred, yawning.

There was a moment of silence. Arthur savored the few minutes he felt his tense neck relax.

When Alfred started the rinse, he spoke again.

“Being real honest, I just think he was after Bian for a while and tried to get me looped into it.”

Arthur snorted.

“That’s not surprising. He just likes anyone who has a respect for hair. I assume you heard he’s moved back now, right?”

“Moved back?” Alfred blinked as he pulled the top of the sink off to clean. “Where to?”

“France, of course,” said Arthur as-a-matter-of-factly. “He’s been on about that since he started working here in the States, you know. Been adamant about getting back home to his family for real because he never had enough funds to get around to it.”

“Oh,” Alfred turned off the sink and began to put a towel on Arthur’s head and gave it a gentle scrub and lifting his neck off the bowl. Arthur began to sit up. “Well, _that_ explains why he came by the other day to give me some of his equipment.”

Arthur turned around in his seat and gave Alfred an incredulous look.

“He gave you his equipment _?”_

Alfred shrugged, helping Arthur to stand and gestured him to at his work station. It looked very hardly used at all, or at the very least, cleaned enough to look that way. However, when he went to sit down onto the chair, he noticed that it was the mirror’s frame that had been completely covered in super hero pictures, with complimenting figurines of Batman and Superman standing against each other next to the hair dryer.

“It was real nice of him, though. It’s a lot of stuff,” continued Alfred. “I wanted to give him at least some money for the gear but he refused it when I offered. He said he didn’t want to have to deal with converting it in the airport… but I think he just wanted to be suave.”

Arthur sighed.

“He just trusts you enough to not break them uselessly. He’s too generous for his own good. It’s why I hate him a lot: He doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

“I can see why...” murmured Alfred.

Arthur’s eyes shot up into the mirror to glare at Alfred.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How short you wanted your hair today?” said Alfred loudly as he smiled at him in the mirror, looking at Arthur. From behind, he produced a cape like magic. By the time it had reached around Arthur’s neck, he realized it was made with a red fabric with the Super Man logo on it.

“Wow,” said Arthur in a dead pan voice. “Never would have suspected _that_.”

“Hey, at least it makes the kids happy,” retorted Alfred, grabbing a comb from his pocket and proceeding to straighten Arthur’s hair out.

“So how do you know him?” asked Alfred after a while of silence. Arthur had been busy staring at the mirror at himself. He was growing self-conscious about the amount of visible freckles that had been developing on his neck; it was autumn for God sake.

“Know who?”

“Francis.” Alfred didn’t look at Arthur anymore choosing to instead focus on his work. Arthur watched him through the mirror instead, curious to see how the man did his business.

It was a very careful way that Alfred demonstrated; as if he were attempting to do art himself. Of course, he didn’t quite look as overly flamboyant as Francis was (and considering that the two had an observably large age gap, he wasn’t surprised). Still, Arthur couldn’t quite get his eyes off the man’s careful hands. They were impossibly still, and it was the first time he had ever encountered anyone who could do that except the surgeons at the clinic.

“Doc?”  
  
Arthur blinked blearily.

“Francis,” he repeated himself, trying to reconstruct Alfred’s original question. “Well, he was the only other European around here, unfortunately. At the time, I hardly had anyone I knew, so we just… clicked, I suppose. The rule of proximity, if you can look at it that way.”

Alfred smiled, but didn’t seem to stray his attention. He was actually very fascinating to watch.

“I was thinking there would have been a cool story to it. Like him meeting you in the ER or something.”

“I could get arrested for talking about him, you know,” snorted Arthur. “HIPAA and what not.”

“You say that as if I know what that is.” Alfred rolled his eyes playfully.

“Patient confidentiality.” clarified Arthur. Alfred pouted.

“Fine, fine,” he said, backing off as he went to switch sides of Arthur’s head. “I won’t ask. Just wondering.”

Arthur only exhaled through his nose audibly, and Alfred eventually took the chance to continue a different conversation. Again, his hands did not dare move even more than an inch outside of his intended margins when he began snipping.

“Though, I kinda of get why you Europeans like that kind of closeness, even though you guys are all different,” He murmured. “I felt the same way a lot when I was in Vietnam for a while. I just had to deal with any English-speaking person there, even if I liked them or not.”

It was Arthur’s turn to appear interested.

“Vietnam?”

Alfred hummed, snipping more.

“Barber confidentiality. You’re just going to have to go schedule another appointment with me if you wanna hear it.”

“That’s just poor taste.”

“So is leaving me on a cliff hanger,” Alfred stuck his tongue out at the mirror playfully. “Tell me about Francis and I’ll tell you about Vietnam.”

Out of the corner of Arthur’s eye, a short woman who perhaps was more likely Ms. Nguyen, made her way right up to Alfred’s mirror, stealing his unused rag on the table without argument. She gave the two men a huff.

“Al,” the woman said. “ _Vô làm tiếp đi.”_

 _“Ừ,”_ Alfred nodded as he went to grab the hair dryer. Before Arthur could even pounce on _that_ question on what she had just said, Alfred had flipped the dryer on to drown out the noise.

A hand went to grab him behind his head lightly as he felt fingers try to separate the clumps of sticking hair, repeatedly shaking it every now and again to test its wetness. Arthur looked at the ‘cape’ draped on his chest, counting up all his loose hair that plopped onto the floor.

Arthur gazed at himself in the reflection, astonished at how Alfred had managed to cut off so much hair in what seemingly felt like only minutes. By the time Alfred had finished his drying, Arthur still hadn’t stopped staring at himself. He turned his head in every neck angle he could imagine himself in, and it all appeared symmetrical.

Not that his hair ever wasn’t but Francis had warned him multiple times to not trust _just anyone_ with your hair because of how easy it was for people to never see the perfect hairlines. He didn’t want to admit it, but if anything ever came to hair, Francis’ advice was the first he would consult.

“Whaddya think?” Alfred asked with a proud smile, producing a mini mirror to give Arthur the ability to check even the backside of his neck.

“... it’s very well done,” he said truthfully, feeling his lips relax into a small smile. Alfred grinned as he went to then ring up the cashier.

“You’re very welcome, Doc.”

Arthur fetched his wallet from inside his pants’ pocket and he flipped through his credit cards before deciding instead to be less digital.

“It’s Kirkland.”

“Hmm?”

Arthur produced two twenties and handed it to Alfred, making him wide eyed.

“What?”

“It’s Dr. Kirkland. I’m an emergency room specialist. And I’ll give you a call next time for an appointment to hear that story from you.”

After a while of staring at him, Alfred decided to take it but when Arthur actually handed him the money, he swallowed.

“Right. Dr. Kirkland. I can plan out your next appointment whenever you’re ready.”

Alfred grabbed the quick business card on display, shoving it in front of Arthur’s face after Arthur returned the wallet into his pockets.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call you soon.” Arthur plucked the card out of Alfred’s hand, heading back to his parked car. The sun had started to come out now, peeking from behind the clouds and the last thing he heard was the bell of the door chime before he started off for Safeway.

**Author's Note:**

> _Posted October 12, 2018 (Originally Sept 20, 2018)_
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> Translations (Casual Vietnamese):  
> “Vô làm tiếp đi.” - Get back to work.  
> “Ừ,” - Yeah


End file.
